Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

  It’s strange that someone in Blackwater keeps track.

  With the crisp evening air to keep me company, I walk faster. Soon our development ends and there’s only two more blocks to go until I reach my destination. At the thought of food, my exhausted body perks up. That’s when the hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise.

  I’m not alone.

  A black Dodge Charger follows alongside me. Not knowing anyone who drives something that cool, I squint, trying to see who is inside. Tinted windows prevent identification.

  The passenger window slides down. “Excuse me, I’ve been trying to get your attention.”

  The streetlamp behind me spotlights the driver’s young face. His hair is dark as obsidian glass and glossy as raven’s wings. Eyes the color of deep green moss peer into mine, while his mouth curves into a crooked grin. A tight black tee and jeans finish off his look.

  “Yes?” My immediate reaction says dangerous, but my trusted instinct isn’t firing off any warnings. Instead, that inner voice is utterly quiet. My ideal type of guy is ‘quietly cute,’ like Remy, but I’ll be the first to say this guy is hot.

  “My friend, Phillip, isn’t home. I’m starving. Is there a coffee shop close by?” Even his deep voice is sexy.

  There’s only one guy I know with that name. He’s also a warlock and in the same year at the Academy as Remy. They’re close. “Philip Morrison?”

  He nods. “You know Phil? We’re old friends. I’m in town visiting for the holidays.”

  “I know him. He’s on break with his family.” If he knows Phil, he must come from a witch family too. A different coven.

  “He left already. I thought he wasn’t going away until the weekend?”

  I shrug. “All I know is he’s gone.” Remy mentioned he’s feeding Philip’s lizard.

  “I should’ve texted to double check. Hey, that color’s wicked.” He winks.

  Sexy Charger Guy or not, I can do without cheesy flirting.

  “About that coffee—” He leans forward, waiting.

  “Oh! There’s Nothing But Java two streets down….” I glance at the desolate stretch from here to the small shopping center. Rush hour has ended and not many vehicles go by. “Know what? I’m headed there. Can I tag along?”

  A huge grin lights up an already gorgeous face. He pushes the passenger door open. As I get in, I can hear my parents. Getting into cars with strangers?

  “I’m Quinn Novak. Nice to meet you.” We shake hands. There’s an assortment of scars across his fingers and the top of his hand but no coven ring.

  “Hi. I’m Salem.” I don’t give a last name.

  “Ooh, a singular-named girl, like Beyonce or Sia.”

  I clip my seat belt and inhale the new car smell. “Yep.”

  He chuckles, veering into the lane. I direct him to the establishment. A few minutes later he pulls into a spot out front. Since it’s almost closing time, the place is relatively empty.

  Quinn opens both the car and the shop’s entrance door. As I enter, I spot his reflection on the glass as he checks out my butt. I’m glad I wore my new jeans today.

  At the counter I order mac and cheese and a hot chocolate. He gets the coffee of the day and a sandwich. After treating me to dinner, we grab a table in the corner. Quinn places the tray down and takes off his leather jacket. I merely unbutton mine.

  He notices and simply smiles. “How long have you lived in Blackwater?”

  “All my life.” I take a sip. Warm chocolate glides down, instantly thawing me.

  “I used to live over by Vansen Homestead. Phil lived next door to me. We became friends. Then my parents divorced, and I had to move.”

  That area had a different school district so we wouldn’t have known each other. Shoveling gooey pasta into my mouth, I chew and observe. Quinn has this total Ian Somerhalder thing going on. When he lobs a mischievous grin my way, his sweetheart-shaped face morphs into that of a player.

  “Do you always analyze your meal companions?” he chuckles, leaning back. The material of his t-shirt tightens, showcasing a muscular build that suits his body perfectly.

  I place my spoon beside the empty bowl and wipe my mouth. “I don’t know you. Of course, I’m going to look at you. Didn’t you check me out too?”

  “Touché.” He shifts, grinning, and drinks.

  Finally, some warmth starts to spread through me, easing the tiredness which had been plaguing me. Exerting myself by walking didn’t help, even if the cold air cleared my head.

  For a few minutes we’re content with finishing our meals. There are two other people at different tables eating and checking their phones. A few bites remain of his sandwich when a light bulb goes off in my head. This shop is still old school and has a Wi-Fi nook complete with a laptop. Any time I’m here, I never see anyone using it. After Remy’s words though….

  Quinn’s phone rings. He answers with a “Hey.”

  “Restroom.” I slip out of the booth.

  I pass the front and a bored worker and head around to the back eating section. With the late hour, the lights are dimmed. The restrooms are to the right. To the left there’s a small cubicle with one community laptop on it.

  Fantastic. Bypassing the sign-up sheet, I pull out the swing stool and sit down. After I open a browser, I go to a trusted coven website and type “maverick” into the search field. A message box pops up with a blinking alert: the page is unavailable. I go to another website. The same result. My head buzzes. What’s wrong? I try two more times.

  Identical results. It’s as though the word doesn’t exist or access to any information pertaining to it is protected.

  Why? And by who?

  “Geez,” I mutter. Remy was right.

  “You’re not going to find information on that word anywhere online,” Quinn whispers, leaning beside me. The scent of musk and patchouli mixes with his pumpkin spice breath.

  I try to calm my galloping heart rate down.

  He then deletes the history before closing the browser and shutting the system down. With a firm grip, he swings my seat around until I’m facing him. Mr. Casual is gone, replaced by someone else. Determination tightens his jaw. “Be careful. You never know who’s watching or has remote access. This business isn’t too far from Blackwater Coven territory.” He nods towards the security camera propped up in the corner and stands.

  First Remy, now this stranger. Why do they know about something obviously important and I don’t? Could they be imagining things?

  I get to my feet and almost faceplant into his leather jacket. “Paranoid much?” I snap. “My family’s tight with the Grand Council and my dad’s a member of the local branch. If mavericks were so damn important, I think I’d know.”

  We stand close enough I can count his eyelashes and the flecks of darker pigment in his irises. Goddess, he’s nice looking.

  He smirks. “Ohhh, I get it now. You’re a top tier in the coven. A wannabe Princess with no power of her own. Were you spellcasting? Is that why you look exhausted?”

  I flinch from the sting of his remark. How could he tell that? “What are you?”

  Taking a deep breath, he latches onto my hand. “Come with me.”

  He pulls me beside him. We race past the sofa and straight to the back exit. Slamming down on the bar handle of the door, Quinn shoves it open with his free hand. We practically run along the side of the building that faces the fenced-in refuse area and adjoining woods. This section of the lot is vacant. Strands of moonlight illuminate us. The silence is eerie.

  With his soft shove, my back presses against the brick building. Quinn stands in front, his arms pen me in. Again, mere inches separate us.

  “I’m a mage. You’re a witch. Care to share why you were looking up that word?” We’re totally alone and yet he keeps his voice low. What coven is he in? Where’s he from? My need for answers wins out over anything else.

  I glare at him but soften my tone to match his. “It’s personal.”

  He snorts
in frustration. “Answer me so I can get ready to defend us if Council goons show up.”

  Is he serious? From the way he remains still as a statue and yet on guard from the rigid hold of his shoulders, I think he is. “You do know the Council purchases and approves every single piece of tech their covens receive, right? Your phone, your laptop, tablet, whatever else you might have, they’ve dealt with it first. It’s all about control.”

  Everything I have was given to me by my parents. That means— “That’s ridiculous.”

  He rolls his eyes. “It’s about time you left that rock you’ve been under. Or are you so used to being cocooned by everything the Council has fed you, starting with your parents?”

  I let his words settle in for a minute. Anger changes into confusion followed slowly by acceptance. I have been dumb, always accepting, never questioning or even wondering about our world. “Why would they need so much control?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m gonna let you think about that. What’s your interest in that word?”

  “I overheard it in a conversation.” There’s no way I’d willingly add myself to the problem.

  Again, silence settles between us like a brick wall. “Is that all?”

  His intense stare unsettles me. “I-I don’t know what it means.”

  He smiles. “So, Salem with one name, I’ll tell you what you need to know. I’ll reveal what our covens and Grand Council keep from us. Then you’ll be in the know.”

  That dig should piss me off and it does. To a certain extent. Despite my indignation, my curiosity wins out. He has my full attention. Maybe it’s the effect of the food or the way his body buffers out the cold. I rest my head against the wall and wait.

  After a glance around the lot, he leans in. “In our world, a maverick is a hybrid. A person who possesses multiple major powers and abilities. Instead of viewing these individuals as gifts, as something incredibly special, they’re labeled pariahs. Treated like losers. The person no one wants on their team. Covens ostracize them.”

  With every word, my stomach churns. “That’s wrong. Why?”

  His smile long gone, anger flares in once twinkling green eyes. “While most mavericks are fine, some can become unstable, even dangerous. The normal supernaturals don’t care and group them all together. They don’t give any mavericks the opportunity to prove themselves. Good. Bad. Doesn’t matter. Once they’re discovered, they’re reported and shunned.” Quinn’s voice cracks. He turns away to clear his throat but keeps me corralled.

  When he faces me again, some of the fire in his eyes has dimmed. “Grand Council sends their guards to collect them. They’re shackled like animals, then tossed in jail where their powers are either bound or completely stripped. If they go crazy, they’re sent to an asylum. Or worse, killed.”

  For the second time tonight, I blink back tears. Quinn must notice because he cups the side of my face. His palm is soft and warm. “Mavericks began retaliating. The ones who disappear before revealing what they are, then fall off the grid. Some are loners. Others turn to drugs or offer their services for hire to undesirables.”

  When he removes his hand, I find myself inching towards him, first mesmerized by his voice, then by the words which fall from his lips. He has a nice mouth.

  Compulsion magic? “They’re coven-less. Abandoned and alone. That’s terrible.”

  “Worse, Princess. They’re scratched from existence. Mavericks are our dirty secrets.”

  There’s this sinking feeling inside me. What if I can’t cast simple spells? Could I be? No.

  For a few seconds we continue to regard each other.

  Soon, I break the silence. “How do you know so much?”

  With a cruel laugh, he pushes away, wipes his hands across his jeans. “I’ve had the opportunity to travel. To meet and talk to people. Find out more about mavericks. I lost someone close to me. I never forgot her, even when everyone in my coven wouldn’t say her name.”

  Ah, this subject is personal. A girlfriend?

  When he turns as if to stare off into the woods at something, I know exactly what he’s seeing. Memories.

  Ever since Remy’s fourteenth birthday celebration, when I saw Lila Allen kiss him followed by what else happened, I’ve been keeping my own secrets.

  Quinn returns. This time he simply braces his side on the wall beside me. “All I know is I’m sick of the lies. The secrets. It’s time our generation learns what is going on. What this war is truly about. Not take what the adults tell us as total truth. It’s time for change.”

  Truth? Lies? The words register as I try to decipher his mysterious meanings when there’s a tug on my jacket. He must’ve spotted the bulge in my jacket pocket. Next thing I know, he’s holding my rarely-used cell phone, his fingertips fly across the screen. When finished, he slips it back. “You now have my contact info, Princess.”

  Not that I asked for it, but having it is good. I blurt out, “Where’s your ring?”

  He moves closer, noting how I draw in a quick breath. “Here.” After a quick dig in his front jeans pocket, he extracts something and slides it on the correct finger. “Thanks for the reminder. I took it off earlier.”

  As I try to catch a glimpse of the band’s design or color of the stone, he crosses his arms, covering the silver with his jacket.

  “Salem, don’t the Blackwater kids go to Waylandale? They haven’t mentioned mavericks in any of their history classes?”

  Busted. “Um…”

  Quinn is practically on my skin. “Hey, I didn’t notice your ring. How old are you? Do you go to an elite academy?” It’s apparent from the speed of his words that he thinks he’s onto something.

  Weird sounds come out, but I’m unable to answer.

  Then he straightens quickly, his index finger hooks some of my escaped strands. His lips move while his eyes squint like he has a super power which enables him to read my thoughts.

  Shock zips through my heart. Perspiration forms above my top lip. There’s an urge to run, yet I know my limbs won’t cooperate now. They, like me, are waiting to hear his next words.

  With a warm whoosh of breath which strikes my cheek, Quinn’s eyes widen. His fingertips press against my hair as though examining its texture. “The color has darkened since I first saw you. You appear fatigued. No ring. No easy defense. You haven’t been gifted yet, have you, Salem?”

  A desert has taken up residence in my throat. I feel my mouth move like fish lips gasping for air.

  “It’s almost time for your final birthday. You’ve been experimenting and it backfired on you.” He gives the tendrils a tug. “You’re terrified something’s wrong. With you. Did someone call you a maverick?”

  There’s no way this conversation can continue. The last thing I need is to bring any type of shame to my family. My coven would never reveal the lateness of my gift to outsiders. But to have some stranger figure out everything I’ve been through in a matter of minutes?

  No way. I push his hand away, duck around him while speaking fast. “Thank you for the information. I’ve got to go.” I speed walk around the corner before sprinting to the shop’s front. My phone buzzes. Yanking it out, it’s Dad. Thank the Goddess. “What’s up?”

  “I’m on my way home. Are you still at the cafe?”

  Knowing his love of baked goods, I’m already eyeballing the remaining contents of the display case. “Yes. Do you want a scone?”

  Dad laughs. “Thanks, honey.”

  Before he can disconnect, I ask him to pick me up. “It’s gotten colder and I’m tired.”

  That he understands. “Sure. I’ll be there in five.”

  I breathe a bit easier. After paying, I go outside to wait. Quinn lingers by the entrance. I might as well say goodbye.

  “Princess,” Quinn says quietly when I step past the doorway. “I didn’t mean anything by my comments. As you can guess, it’s a topic I feel strongly about. If you need….”

  I crinkle the top of the paper bag. “I don’t need anyth
ing. Thank you.”

  Approaching headlights turn brighter as Dad turns into the lot.

  “We can help each other,” he says softly. “You’re in an excellent position to help the mavericks. With someone of your ranking speaking for them. Being one of them…”

  My fingers stop moving. I turn to glare at him. There’s a strange feeling coursing up my body. “You don’t know me, Quinn. Don’t assume you do.”

  “Instead of asking others for answers, seek out your own,” he chucks me lightly under my chin. “You might want to know that your hair has shifted to a lovely shade of blood red. Very becoming, I might add. Sweet dreams, Princess.”

  I hear his receding footsteps, but don’t turn to watch him. I won’t give Quinn the power of knowing how much his words hit home. He doesn’t know me, and I have no idea who he is. Dad pulls up. Shivering again, I climb in and lock my seatbelt in place.

  “Who was that? Someone from school?” Dad stares ahead. With the glare of his car lights mixing with the ones from the storefront, it’s hard to see Quinn’s retreating form.

  “A friend of Philip’s.”

  “Hmph. There was something familiar about that young man.” We both watch Quinn take off. “What did you get me?”

  I pat the bag on my lap. “I scored the last two. Orange cranberry and blueberry. Perfect with your coffee tomorrow.”

  Dad eyeballs my hair as we head towards home. “Occasionally our gifts can be wonky when manifesting. Mine were all over the place before they leveled out. Don’t worry about your hair. It could clear up tomorrow. I will help you through this, honey.”

  He glances over with a small smile.

  Just like mom, he’s an expert at hiding things but his concern is etched across the creases of his forehead. I know he will see me through this. Dad has never let me down. The things Quinn revealed are frightening. It makes no sense to dwell on anything, especially since what my dad said was true. Nothing is concrete.

  Not yet.

  As we enter the Blackwater Development, pass by numerous homes with their lights on and their families inside doing whatever they do in the evening, I wonder exactly how many know about mavericks?